Murder at La Luxure Royale
by Silvia Grace
Summary: Ciel and Sebastian are sent to America after a string of suspicious deaths begin to reflect badly on English nobility. Their new assignment finds them in a seamy New Orleans nightclub with a bloody past and a haunted present. A somewhat rollicking tale topped with a dollop of homemade mysticism and sprinkled with dark themes.
1. Upon New Shores

**Greetings readers, old and new. As we embark on a third journey, this story presents new challenges. Namely that not one of these chapters have been written in advance. We'll be taking one step at a time together! That isn't to say I don't know what's going to happen in this story. I have a clear idea and I don't start writing something unless I plan on finishing it. And though there will be mention of heavy subject matter, my personal goal is to make this more light-hearted than "The Young Master, Narcissistic." As proud as I am of that story, it was very dark and definitely not for everyone. Anyway, enough of my jabbering. Happy reading! :)**

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"To My Sweet Boy,

It is my understanding, Ciel, that your last assignment has left you particularly shaken. But as always you never fail to prove your tenacity, and I am again reminded of your bravery and strength as passed on to you by your powerful lineage. I do hope your hiatus has redeemed your health and that besides all is well. I must, however, bring you back to attention. Three years ago, the son of the Baron of Bedford, the Honourable Jacob Mitchell, left England for America with his young bride following the path to a new career; or rather, his father cut off his allowance until he decided to be a man, and thus felt it most logical to run as far away from his parents as possible, as most children do. He has since purchased and renovated an old club and was doing more than reasonably well with it in terms of profit, but he has run into a spot of trouble as of late. Well, it is what you and I would call a spot of trouble. Others may refer to it as murder. There has been a total of five men found dead in their rented rooms, having died of asphyxiation. They were all men of hardy health and the alibis of the club's employees have come back clean each time. The owner of this business being an English royal, you can imagine how these unsettling deaths are reflecting on our extended family. You will be given further details by the New Orleans crime department. Remember your reputation precedes you. I have told them I am sending the best.

Sincerely,

Victoria."

Ciel reflected on the Queen's letter as he leaned against the noble ship's railing. The vessel gently bobbed atop the clear blue gulf, crystalline and twinkling as a gem. It was an early morning hour- which, Ciel was not aware, but the sun had just begun to peak its orange head over the horizon, colouring the sky with the grey of daybreak. Ciel unfastened the first button of his shirt. The cool of darkness had barely been washed away and yet it was already far too warm for his British blood. He had heard as much about the Caribbean humidity and was disheartened to discover that the stories were true. Just then there appeared a familiar figure by his side.

"Good morning, my Lord," Sebastian smiled in his usual fashion.

"Good morning," Ciel answered shortly.

"You're awake very early, I see," said the Butler.

"I was too hot to sleep," Ciel said, not attempting to hide his irritation. The gnats began to buzz about his face. One thought it funny to launch a suicide mission into his eyeball, and remained stubbornly stuck to the gooey ocular fluid no matter how aggressively, or delicately, Ciel attempted to pick it out. Noticing his struggle, Sebastian pulled Ciel's face towards him and removed the pesky little blighter with one dab of his thumb. He flicked it away and Ciel rubbed his eye again. "I don't even understand why She sent us all the way down here," Ciel complained. "What's the point?"

"Think of it as an adventure," Sebastian said. "New Orleans is an absolutely stunning city, especially the French Quarter. I think you will love it."

The Butler's good spirits only annoyed Ciel further. He ground his teeth and pressed on. "Do we know anything about this place or not?"

"I did do a bit of research before we set sail," Sebastian said, "but I think perhaps I will wait until your temper improves before I tell you anything."

"My temper is perfectly fine!" Ciel spat. Sebastian stared at him with raised eyebrows and his omnipresent smirk. "Just tell me," Ciel sighed heavily.

"Well, the good proprietor of this unlucky club has quite the reputation of being somewhat of a louse," Sebastian said. "Apparently he's up to his ear lobes in gambling debt and this 'young bride' is marriage number three. Rumour also has it that he's fathered two illegitimate children and has a total of ten with his previous wives. After several failed business attempts, including, but not limited to, a cigar shoppe and a poodle grooming service, he purchased this new club from its former caretaker, the building having once been an indigo plantation. He christened the business La Luxure Royale and prides it on being one of the sauciest clubs this side of the Mississippi, as the saying goes."

Ciel stared dumbly at Sebastian. "La Luxure Royale?"

"Yes."

"As in, The Royal Lust?"

"Your French is impeccable as always, my Lord. It may be useful in this city."

"What exactly makes this show so lusty?"

Sebastian shrugged. "The typical suspects, I should think. Can-can, burlesque, vaudeville. I have never seen it for myself so I cannot say for sure."

Ciel rested his head against his arms. He wasn't so sure that he had the nerves to witness another "saucy" show.

Sebastian noticed Ciel's hesitation and said gently, "You are not expected to be a part of this production, Young Master."

"Good," Ciel lifted his head, "because I might've had to give Her Majesty an I.O.U."

Sebastian chuckled and the two shared silence for a time. The port came into view and the dock workers were already toiling away, the perspiration shining like diamonds on their dark skin.

"What do you think of all this, Sebastian?" Ciel asked. "Why would Her Majesty send us so far away?"

Sebastian looked down at Ciel from the corner of his eyes. "Not every action has an ulterior motive, my Lord."

"Doesn't it though?"

"No," Sebastian answered. "Although this case may be more interesting than She lets on. She knows how much you love a challenge. Also, a change in scenery might be good for you." Ciel shrugged and Sebastian continued. "Besides, the proud name of the Crown is at stake and we are the best, to use Her words."

Ciel laughed under his breath and looked up at Sebastian through his eyelashes. "_We_?" he said.

"Would you disagree?" Sebastian asked.

Ciel rolled his shoulders and stood up straight. "I suppose not."

The ship pulled into port and the workers began shouting back and forth in a sing-song patois. They tossed ropes and crates to and fro. The waves sloshed around the barnacle covered legs of the platform as the ship came to a halt.

"Where to first, my Lord?" Sebastian asked.

Ciel scrunched up his face and said a bit tartly, "Our hotel, I should think. But after that, we'll visit the police station to comb through some records and possibly view the deceased for ourselves."

"Very good," said Sebastian. The crew rushed about to awaken the passengers, the solid boarding ladder was let down and the two left the ship and stepped foot into America.


	2. Of Apparitions and Missing Records

The first thing the two noticed about the city was its head-spinning extremes. There was the buzzing excitement so typical of American society, but a thick haze of Southern comfort hung about, slow and warm like honey, softening the hard edge of city life. It was also a notable feat that in their rapidly growing industrial age the city managed to preserve its marbled history, an homage to the Parisian culture that gave it birth. Its socioeconomics, too, mirrored that of Europe's: the rich were beyond rich, wrapped in silk and dripping with diamonds, and the poor had little more to call their own other than the their self-appointed surnames. The two-horse carriage Ciel and Sebastian shared stopped outside of the small police station. The Butler exited first to lend a hand to his Master, and the merciless sun bore down on the poor thing as soon as he set foot on the cobblestone. Ciel pulled on his collar to loosen its hug around his neck and made a note that he would never again wear black so long as he was in New Orleans. Sebastian opened the door of the building and entered after the Earl.

The station was not at all like the ones the two had gotten so familiar with in London. Quite the opposite, in fact. It was almost barren and very square with wooden ceiling rafters, desks piled high with paperwork and only a few portraits of important looking individuals hung on the walls. The men on duty looked at the fancy foreigners and immediately began snickering behind their aloft papers. One in particular, a ruddy man with a broad-striped waistcoat and a cotton-like beard and moustache, took a few uncertain steps towards Earl and Butler.

"You wouldn't happen to be," the man said slowly, as though he were having trouble believing his eyes and finding the disbelief humorous, "_Earl _Phantomhive. Would you?"

Ciel kept calm but wondered just how ornately he would have to present himself to convince strangers of his nobility. "Yes, I am," he answered proudly.

The man he was speaking to put both hands over his chest like he was experiencing a heart attack. "My stars and garters!" he cried in his Southern drawl. "But you're so young!"

Unsure of and disinterested in how to reply, Ciel remained silent. The man shrugged his large shoulders and put forth his hand.

"I am Inspector Edwards," he introduced himself. "It's an honour to meet you, Earl Phantomhive."

"Likewise," Ciel said half-heartedly with an equally enthusiastic handshake.

"And who is this?" Inspector Edwards looked to the Butler.

"This is my butler, Sebastian," said Ciel. "He assists me in matters of this kind."

"Ah!" Inspector Edwards caught Sebastian mid bow with a vigorous handshake. "Pleased to make your acquaintance!" he said as he roughly shook his hand up and down. Sebastian received the greeting with the expected decorum as best he could, though he wasn't sure if he liked the attention. "Welcome to New Orleans!" the Inspector greeted them both. "Though I wish I were saying that under happier circumstances. Please, follow me." He beckoned them both and continued speaking as he lead them further into the building. "I was told to give you all the eerie details, as you are the best."

Ciel employed his humblest tone that he had perfected over the years, adding a raised hand and closed eyes to look ever more sincere. "Please. No need to use Her words."

"Oh, but I must!" the Inspector gushed. "For the Queen of England to send us her right underhand man! I'm humbled."

"What then about these deaths?" Ciel asked.

"Well, the first thing I know is that Mister Mitchell is beside himself with fear."

"Naturally."

"They were among his most regular customers!"

"Any foul play expected?"

"..." The Inspector hesitated as he brought them both into his office. Sitting behind his desk and gesturing to his guests to do the same at the available seats, he continued. "That's hard to figure. Logically there must be, but all roads lead to nowhere. The performers have been questioned, the cleaning staff interrogated, the kitchen employees grilled. Ha! Get it? Grilled?" The Inspector laughed more at his joke than either the Earl or Butler did. Actually, neither laughed at all but Edwards didn't seem bothered. "Ha-ha! Whew." He wiped a little water from the corner of his eye. "Huh. Yup. Say, either of you want something to wet your whistle?"

"No, thank you," Ciel said quickly.

"You sure? It's scorching out there. How 'bout some lemonade? Just take a minute to prepare."

"Really, it's fine!" After this temporary upset in manners, Ciel smiled kindly and said, "Truly, it's alright. I thank you for your hospitality, but we really must get to work as soon as possible. I am sure you understand."

"Yes, I do," said the Inspector. "If you insist. Anyway. They all checked out fine. They also vouched for the patrons, saying that none of them were anywhere near the victims at the time of their death. This also turned out to be true. And to top it off, the bodies were found clear of markings. No bruises, no cuts, no blood. Nothing even lodged in their airways."

"And yet they were suffocated?" Ciel asked.

"Perhaps it was smothering," Sebastian said under his breath.

Ciel nodded. "That's plausible," he agreed. "So as of this moment no one in particular is suspected? Not even the employees have an idea of who might be behind these killings?"

Inspector Edwards shifted in his chair and suppressed a laugh. "Well," he began, adjusting his suspenders beneath his waistcoat, "they do have a theory of their own, but it's so ridiculous I doubt you could even make something of it."

Sebastian and Ciel looked at each other with matching frowns. "Any information you have may be helpful," Sebastian said, "regardless of how far fetched it may seem."

The Inspector grinned and scoffed. "Alright! Well." He leaned forward and said confidentially, "They think it's a ghost."

Ciel's eyebrows inched upward. "A... ghost," he said.

Inspector Edwards couldn't hold his laughter anymore. In his jolly fit, he reminded Ciel a bit of Santa Claus. "Yup, that's their story. And they're sticking to it, boy." He shook his head and rolled his eyes. "No matter how many times we ask them if they've seen any shady behaviour, they always just go back to the supernatural business."

"What is their reasoning for believing this?" Sebastian asked.

Both Earl and Inspector looked to the Butler with shock. "Sebastian," Ciel started, "you can't possibly be entertaining this."

"Any small detail may prove valuable, my Lord," Sebastian explained patiently.

Inspector Edwards kept quiet for a few moments to be sure of the Butler's curiosity, but obliged once he saw that the strange man was quite serious. "They say that the place is crawling with ghosts," he began, "but that there's one in particular who's kind of the Head of otherworldly affairs. They call her the Mistress. They believe she's the spirit of a former slave who has come to wreak havoc on the foreign white men who have caused her pain."

"I'll take the guess that all of the victims were European tourists then," Sebastian said.

"... Yes," the Inspector said slowly. "How did you know that?"

"Like I said, any small detail may prove valuable," the Butler repeated himself.

Ciel considered this and said, "Macabre of a request it may be for me to make, Inspector, is it possible for us to view the bodies for ourselves?"

The Inspector was startled by the child's coldness. "Why on earth would you need to do that?"

"To confirm the cause of death," Ciel said.

The Inspector frowned and leaned back in his chair, crossing his rough hands over each other. "The cause of death has already been confirmed, Earl Phantomhive," he said sternly. "Or don't you find the word of our coroner trustworthy?"

"That isn't what I'm saying," Ciel tried to be polite, "it's only that-"

"It's only that you don't think us legitimate enough!" the Inspector snapped. A very uncomfortable silence followed. "Listen," Edwards' voice cooled. "I didn't mean to shout. These freakish deaths have made things a little rough around here lately." He looked down for a moment to still himself before looking to Ciel again. "The coroner is a solitary man with many peculiar quirks, but I'll ask him if you can see them. If anything, he'll be able to show you their medical histories at least."

"Thank you very much, Inspector," Ciel said with a small bow of his head. "And don't worry," he added. "We are very used to dealing with eccentric undertaking types." That time it was the Earl and his Butler laughing without the Inspector. "I do have another request, if I may," Ciel said. "I will also need to see the police records of the business before Mister Mitchell's ownership of it."

"That I can do for you," Edwards replied with some delay, "but how can those help?"

Ciel shrugged. "History has the tendency to repeat itself."

"I'll be sure to get those to you then."

"If we may take them now?" Ciel said. "We must be sure that you aren't trying to hide anything from us." He kept a jesting tone, but that, too, was a practiced façade. The Inspector nodded and stood from his chair. Beside his desk was a maple filing cabinet covered in water-discoloured stains. He rifled through several folders before removing the one being discussed. Even in the outstretched hand, Ciel saw that it was dubiously thin and his confusion only grew when he felt its lightness in his own hands.

"This is it?" he asked.

"Yes, well," Edwards puffed as he settled back into his chair, "the building was an ordinary residency most of its existence."

"Does this include its plantation history as well?" Ciel asked as he opened the skinny file.

"If you want to see those, you'll have to get cozy with his family," the Inspector said, sounding a touch impatient. "Things like that are property of the descendants."

"Alright." Ciel kept his temper as he stood, but he could not suffer working with the secretive and difficult. "I believe that we have enough evidence to sift through for the time being," he said. "Thank you for your cooperation."

Edwards stood and put out his hand again. "No trouble at all, Earl Phantomhive." He smiled and something about it seemed as fake as the one Ciel wore, almost as though he were secretly mocking the English royal.

"We'll be in touch to arrange that meeting with the coroner?" Ciel clarified.

Edwards kept shaking Ciel's hand as he answered with surprise. "Ah! That's right! Yes, yes, we'll be in touch."

Finally, he released his grip and Ciel was able to write his information on a business card provided by Sebastian. "This is the name and number of the hotel where we're staying." He gave the Inspector the card and smiled again. "We hope to hear from you soon!" he said.

"That you will," Edwards gave the same smile in return. He then walked the two foreigners to the entrance and showed them out. Ciel felt that he closed the door behind them too deliberately, taking care not to make any sound.

"That was a bit obvious, was it not?" Sebastian asked once he was sure that they were alone.

Ciel squinted against the sun's rays and said, "Might as well give him credit for trying. We'll keep an eye on them. Oh, and about the bodies-"

"No need for worry, my Lord," Sebastian said. "I will look into it for myself should the Inspector, ahem, _fail _to secure an appointment."

"Good," Ciel said. "Well, we should get to looking through these right awa-"

The little Earl stopped mid sentence and mid step. Sebastian meant to ask him what had his attention enraptured so until he followed his Master's line of vision to the distraction in question. It was a beautiful young lady in the full bloom of womanhood with deep olive skin and raven curls to the top of her tight laced waist. She wore a full gown of true violet, a somewhat loud colour choice for the afternoon, and a multitude of fine gold necklaces. A small purple and white spotted orchid nestled against her cheek, its stem tucked behind her left ear. She approached Ciel and Sebastian knowingly, sportively.

"Pardon me, sirs?" she inquired with something of a Spanish accent.

"Yes, miss?" Sebastian said because Ciel kept his silence.

"Are you Earl Phantomhive?" the girl asked, glancing up at Sebastian with bright doe eyes. She had a cheeky of speaking. Though her words were clear, her voice was low in pitch and soft in tone, meant to draw her listener closer.

"No. That would be me," Ciel said, finally finding his voice.

"Oh?" The girl was surprised for a moment but calmed herself and curtsied daintily. "Pleased to meet you. My name is Catarina. I am to give you this." She pulled forward a ruby covered purse and retrieved a powdered mauve envelope from inside. "This is your invitation," she said.

Ciel took the envelope into his gloved hands and his senses were kissed with the enchanting scent of jasmine. "Invitation?" he said. As he meant to pull the envelope open, the pretty messenger stopped him.

"I must ask you do not open that here," Catarina said, cupping Ciel's hands with both of hers. She waited for his gaze to meet her own to say, "It is for your eyes only." She allowed her stare to linger long enough so as not to be lascivious, but plenty intimate that it would be remembered.

"And where is my invitation?" Sebastian interrupted playfully.

Catarina pressed her forefinger into her cheek and pursed her lips. "Hmm..." she thought. Then her eyes lit up. "Ah!" She removed the orchid from her hair and slipped it into the buttonhole on Sebastian's lapel, standing on her toes to do so. Again, she let her eyes and fingers rest a bit longer than socially acceptable before she glided away. "We'll be seeing each other tonight then, gentlemen," she cooed. As she walked away, she drew the stare of everyone in the street and returned not a one except those of the two she left behind.

They stood quietly for a moment, Sebastian stroking the orchid's silken petals and Ciel touching the envelope to his nose to breathe in the delicious floral perfume. Sebastian looked down at his intrigued little Lord and chuckled.

"La Luxure Royale," he said with flourish.

Ciel snapped back to action and glared at him. "Shut up," he said and began walking away.

"I am only saying the name of the club," Sebastian smirked.

"Shut up!" Ciel repeated, the heels of his shoes clicking louder as each step grew more irritated. He walked without aim to distance himself from embarrassment but Sebastian's words pulled him back.

"Are you following her, my Lord?" Ciel had his back turned, but he could hear _that_ smile in the Butler's voice.

"No!" Ciel stopped fast and turned around. "I was only... looking for a place to have tea."

Sebastian approached Ciel with somewhat of a sauntering step. "Then now may be the perfect time to go for a promenade through the French Quarter," he suggested. He rested a hand between Ciel's shoulder blades and gently guided him forward. "Might I escort you to a most charming tea parlour on Magazine Street? It is but a hole in the wall, but its privacy makes it ideal to discuss such-" he pinched the Royale's history between his thumb and forefinger and lowered his voice- "classified documents."

Ciel allowed himself to be steered through the glamorous crowds, the perfume from the invitation attracting several meaningful looks, and the Butler whispering ghostly secrets in his ear.


	3. La Luxure Royale

**Hello, lovelies!**** A couple of notes for this week's chapter: 1) There are anatomical parts mentioned here (notice- just _mentioned_, nothing done to them lol), but I trust that the mere naming of those things doesn't call for a rating change. If you think it does you can try to persuade me, but I like to give teenagers more credit than that and 2) I would really love and appreciate it if you listened to "Belleville Rendez Vous" by Les Triplettes de Belleville before reading this (the French version, if you please. You can find it on YouTube, I'm sure). It inspired not only the burlesque dance I've written for you all, but really the entire essence of La Luxure Royale. Also, it's just a really fun song!** **:)**

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The place was a sprawling mansion, accented with lace-like lattices and surrounded by lush tropical flowers: exotic hibiscus, rhododendron, night blooming jasmine and other such flora that Ciel had only ever seen pictures of. Their mingled perfumes were an opiate for the senses, a forewarning to any wary visitor who may not know they were about to enter into another world. The crowd was sparse but eclectic and obviously hand-picked. They ranged from those in Ciel's class, though admittedly not as high, adorned with similar fineries- silk, leather, jeweled rings, a trim of fur here and there. But then there were others that couldn't have been higher than working class. Though crass and rowdy, they were otherwise good natured.

Sebastian must have noticed the imbalance as well because he said, "I wonder what one must do to prove oneself worthy of invitation?"

"Why is it needed at all?" Ciel asked.

"Another rumour I had heard about this club is that it is very exclusive due to its content," Sebastian said. "The invitations are to keep the waiting list to a minimum, or non-existent, preferably. It is a fashion these days, anyway, to extend cordial summons for a night of gaieties."

Ciel rolled his eyes and changed the subject. "I have to say, I'm disappointed that we found no record of similar murders in the files we were given."

"Were you expecting to?" Sebastian asked.

"Maybe. I don't know," Ciel sighed angrily. "Who do they think they're dealing with anyway? Really? Edwards himself said that he was humbled to work with the Queen's right _underhand_ man, with that hideous attempt at wit."

Sebastian laughed. "It is just as I said, my Lord," said he. "Her Majesty would not have deployed us for a trivial crime committed by simple people."

Ciel shrugged and the two were accepted with the rest by a pair of Haitian butlers into La Luxure Royale.

The stunning façade of the mansion belied the kitsch that cluttered the interior. It was done up in the tacky fashion of all things Oriental meets Rococo, as interpreted by one who hadn't been farther east than Belgium. Japanese tapestries hung long from the ceiling, ivory tusks jutted out from the walls and were draped with jade beads, Arabian carpets patterned the floor over and over, so as to make the eyes strain and cross over. In almost every still life painting there was the presence of a pomegranate. There was even a crystal bowl full of golden sculptures of the luxurious fruit, one of them halved to reveal seeds of garnets and rubies. It was a wonder no one sought to thieve them. Ciel was not sure of the folklore of pomegranates, but did know that in English flower language they meant conceit. Fitting. As he made yet another turn on his heels to take a good look at the place, a figurine popped out at him from beside a vase full of tiger lilies. What was it? A capped mushroom? It looked a bit to long to be a mush- oh. Wait.

It was then that Ciel noticed. Phallus. Lots and lots of phallus, pushed into every chink of the ornamentations. Large ones, small ones, some made of steel, made of porcelain, gold, bronze, clay. Breasts, too, and vulvas made appearances in many pictures. On closer examination, the Japanese tapestries were actually Edo era erotic artwork*****. Sebastian only noticed these things as Ciel had and was much too late in covering his working eye. Ciel appreciated the gesture nonetheless and did nothing to free his eyesight.

"That may be a good idea!" a jovial voice called out to them. They turned and saw a tall, fairly young man approach them, his cheeks red and his eyes glossy with drink. "Good evening, Ciel! It's been too long. How are you?" He stretched his arms out and his reach was impressive, like an albatross. He stood still as if expecting Ciel to simply run into the embrace. "You don't remember me, do you?" he said as he lowered his arms. He laughed. "I shouldn't expect that you would," he smiled. "You were just a wee one the last time I saw you. About yea high." He placed a flattened hand slightly above his knee. "But you've grown! And how handsome you've become. My, have you got that mischievous Phantomhive look to you."

"I beg your pardon, Sir Mitchell, I presume-" Ciel began.

"Call me Jacob!" the man beamed.

Ciel drew in a breath and said, "I beg your pardon, _Jacob_, but I do not recall having made your acquaintance."

"Ah, well, no matter!" Jacob cried. "I take it this is the butler?" Again, the attention made Sebastian prickle but at least this Mitchell person didn't physically accost him after his introduction. "Excellent. We have now all been introduced anew!" Jacob carried on. "So it is time to focus on the present. And what a present it is! You know, I think that is why it is called so. It is a gift to be alive, and on such a beauteous night. Come! Come in!" He turned quickly, his scarlet tail coat swirling about his legs. Ciel followed only after Sebastian nudged him forward.

"This is the man who is 'beside himself with fear?'" Ciel muttered to the Butler. Sebastian shook his head and kept moving forward.

"I am so glad that you both were able to come all the way from across the pond to see us," Jacob said over his shoulder. He plucked a daisy from a small vase and placed it into the empty hand of a young lady. She blushed as he pinched her chin sweetly. "We've got an excellent show for you this evening," he added with a bit of arch.

Ciel and Sebastian raised their brows. "Thank you for the offer," Ciel said slowly, "but we have more important matters to attend to. Don't you agree?" He said those last words with emphasis.

"Oh, but you're already here!" Mitchell sang out. "Why not relax? Get to know us better!"

He lead them to a grand room that must have at one time served as the ballroom. At the head of it was a large stage very low to the floor and round tables throughout. A band of percussion and strings tuned up in front of the stage. The tall windows were draped in deep purple cloth of crushed velvet. The room was already packed, chatting patrons sitting around every table. Most were smoking factory made cigarettes, the ladies employing long, lacquered holders to avoid staining their satin gloves. Pomegranate martinis looked to be the poison of choice, their seeds sinking to the bottom of the conical glasses, though there were a few daring enough to brave the dream world of _la fée verte_******, sugar cubes dissolving into magic over slotted silver spoons. Eventually, Jacob sat his guests of honour at a small, intimate table a mere breath away from the stage. Upon the table stood a stiff triangle of paper reading "Reserved" in purple script.

"The best view in the house!" Jacob said. "Have a seat!" He swept his arm over the table as though presenting to a prospective buyer. "I'll bring you each a drink."

"Oh, no thank y-" Ciel began to protest, but Jacob danced away before he could finish. He and the Butler sat down stiffly side by side and it seemed that barely a minute had passed before two fat glasses of citrus-riddled red wine appeared before them.

"Your sangria, gentlemen," a female voice purred. The two looked up to see the girl who had first introduced herself earlier that same day. She traded her violet gown for one the colour of orange roses, her pulse carrying the bright fragrance of lime. Her hair wrapped around itself in a long, thick braid and about her middle she wore a high, stiff bodice that accented her wonderfully plump... shoulders.

"Good evening, Catarina, was it?" Sebastian smiled.

"It was," Catarina said, "and still is." They laughed together and Catarina leaned forward to push a strand of Sebastian's hair softly behind his ear. "But I did not catch _your_ name."

"Sebastian," said the Butler, slowly taking up her hand and kissing it. "It's a pleasure." They smiled at each other for a moment more while Ciel sipped his sangria timidly, praying that he could avoid the process of re-introducing himself to her. Suddenly the lights were lowered and Catarina gave both the Earl's and Butler's shoulders a squeeze before scurrying away without another word. The band started up into a syncopated fanfare and every light went dark except for those of the stage. The audience roared like zoo animals as the heavy purple curtains were slowly pulled back. The stage seemed to be a pearl in the shell-like cradle of the wings, and glowing with the same creamy iridescence, though it was unclear what could be reflecting the prism colours. A line of baffled looking harlequins stumbled over each onto the stage and the show began.

Each act played like a hyper version of reality- ludicrous, but somehow beautiful. There was something highbrow hidden amongst the painted faces and flashes of bare skin, a kind of social criticism that was just a step above the average head but made the selective Royale audience screech with laughter and whistle with excitement. Perhaps masquerading as silliness made it more accessible. At the close of the seventh number, in which a group of speckled red toadstools danced about to Tchaikovsky, the performers came together and joined hands to make a circle. As they skipped around in a ring, they chanted in childish verse:

_Where an ear is leant and a wish is made_

_twixt wild thyme and sweet nightshade_

_'neath a moon of selenite, 'tween fireflies their flames alight_

_Believe in magick and you will see opposites in harmony_

_Where poppies grow and lips are kissed,_

_you may dance with Artemis..._

The Spanish guitar picked up into strumming rhythmic chords and the cello slid along a reedy bass line as a dancer took the stage, standing behind two massive feather fans. Artemis started into a romping dance, twirling her fans in large circles with studied turns of her wrists. Her dance was a coquette, a teasing burlesque. The audience was only given fleeting moments to be dazzled by a glimpse of golden skin, a lean arm, a high-arched foot in a slender black heel. With every turn she pulled the audience further into a spell. She flitted around the footlights, accepting monetary donations from her admirers in the cuffs of her thigh high fishnets or slipped into the top of her glittering black corset. She eventually made her way over to Ciel and he finally caught sight of her face. There was something of the Byzantine in the sharp tilt of her features, and her onyx eyes were winged with coal like Cleopatra. Her skin sparkled with equal parts mica and perspiration, and her long auburn hair was dressed with pearls, sparrow feathers and drooping poppies. She smiled directly at Ciel and he instinctively tossed her a dime, as he had seen many other patrons do. Artemis caught the coin midair, kissed it with wine stained lips and tossed it back to him with a wink. Such boldness! _I do not ask for your money_, said her eyes, _Your attention is pay enough_. She covered herself with her fans and was off again, spinning her web of love in time to the lively music. At the end of her cavorting dance, she allowed the audience to see her body in full. She must have been seventeen at the most for her figure had very few curves to speak of. Of course by then it didn't matter because the audience roared with jubilation at the uncensored sight of her with naked arms and raised ruffled skirts. But then the strangest thing happened. Just when one would think that she should exit the spotlight, she instead placed a hand atop her head and grabbed a fistful of hair. To the shock of both Earl and Butler, she removed her mermaid wig and revealed her born gender. Artemis was really Apollo! Ciel could only have imagined what horrors would be imposed to treat such deviant behaviour in London, but inside La Luxure Royale the show was only made that much more decadent. The crowd screamed louder than before and flowers shot through the air like stars and grew in mountainous piles at his delicate feet. He scooped up his bounty with both arms and, acting like he was carting a hefty weight, slowly shuffled off the stage. The audience cackled and howled, cheering his name in unison.

The remaining acts swirled by in the same Wonderland-esque manner, its colours and sounds and smells almost too much for Ciel's senses to digest, and seemingly as quickly as it had started it ended. Each act took separate bows and a final one standing all together before they ran off into the wings, the curtains closing once again. In any other theatre, once the show was over the night was over, but in that particular place the show only seemed to serve as a tone to set the evening. The band started up into another number and the patrons began pushing the tables off to the side to clear the dance floor. Some coupled off, some continued smoking and drinking, others formed large circles like the dancing toadstools had. It was clear, however, that the festivities were far from over. Ciel and Sebastian were just about to have their table absconded from them before they were interrupted.

"How did you like the show then, gentlemen?" Jacob's arms draped around their shoulders and his head came right between them. Ciel jumped out of his seat at the sudden appearance. Neither the Earl or Butler were given a moment to reply because Jacob immediately said, "Oh, you don't have to tell me. Your stunned faces are gratification enough! The performers will be so glad. Would you like to speak with them?" Ciel opened his mouth but again Jacob spoke before he could. "Of course you would! That is what you came here for after all, I assume. Follow me, friends! Allow me to take you backstage." He placed one hand on Ciel's back and the other on Sebastian's arm, and merrily ushered them both to a pair of cushioned doors just to the right of the stage. Acting far below his station, he bowed subserviently as Earl and Butler walked through the doorframe to come face to face with garish performers of La Luxure Royale.

* * *

***Edo era art is very pretty in its own right, but definitely NSFW. Google at your own discretion.**

****La fée verte translates from French into the Green Fairy, which is another name for absinthe.**

**Thank you, everyone, for being patient! It definitely feels strange publishing things before they're done, mostly because I want to be timely about this stuff but sometimes I can't be. Work and other boring grown up things get in the way of thinking creatively. Bleck. Anyway. Yeah! I hope you're all still on board. Also, fun fact for this chapter, I think I spent most of my time writing this on that poem! I'm not very good at them, you see, but my "muse" wouldn't get off my back about writing one so I had no choice. ;)**


	4. A Ghost of an Idea

**I've recently received an influx of love for all of my stories this week and I wanted to say thank you. Your words made me so happy during an especially blahihateeverything kind of week. Yup. Now then. Gather 'round for story time! :)**

* * *

The backstage dressing room was quite large, lined with cluttered vanities and illuminated by cinnamon-scented candles and electric lamps with stained glass shades. The performers were all facing the doorway as though they had been expecting company. Artemis stood at the front of them with crossed arms and leaning into one hip, lips pursed and wig in hand. He gave Ciel a once over with his eyes as he walked into the room and smiled knowingly before seating himself at his trinket-laden vanity.

Jacob closed the door behind him and wrapped his arms around the shoulders of Earl and Butler. "Everyone! We have visitors from the land of crumpets and tea!"

The performers were silent. With confusion or indifference, Ciel couldn't tell. Artemis, who was adjusting his wig and its adorning baubles, spoke up first.

"Oh, great," he sighed. It gave Ciel quite a shock to hear such a deep voice from that feminine form but he did his best to hide his surprise. "More lawmen here to mock us."

Ciel understood then that their silence meant indifference.

"Now, now, Artemis," Jacob tutted. "These are no ordinary lawmen. They've been sent to us by Her Majesty the Queen!"

"Ooo, fancy!" Artemis said in a tone thick with sarcasm. Those who leaned against his vanity laughed along.

"I'll have you know, dearies, that that is my family tree you're mocking," Jacob brushed off their rudeness easily and went on. "They solve riddles of this kind all the time back home- because I _do_ still think of merry old England as my home." At this he bent close to Ciel and spoke directly into his ear, even more drunk than he had been at the beginning of the night. "They've come to _listen_, I promise."

"Whatever," Artemis said with a toss of his head, "as long as that Inspector never comes back."

"He's only doing what he can to help us," Jacob said. "We need him."

Artemis snorted. "Yeah, like a hole in the head."

"Are you really going to listen to us?" One of the others had spoken. She was a tiny Jamaican girl in the remnants of her toadstool costume. Something about her question was pleading, but it was obvious she didn't want to set her hopes too high.

Sensing that Ciel did not want to say the wrong thing about a sensitive situation, Sebastian filled his role as mediator. "Of course we will listen to you. It's very important to be thoroughly informed by all involved persons. We are curious to learn what you know."

The performers stayed quiet, though now Ciel could see that they had switched to uncertainty.

"Couldn't hurt, right?" asked a harlequin whose face was smeared with primary colours. "I don't think we have a choice anyway."

The little toadstool sighed, shrugged and launched into her narration, her fellow performers interjecting with their own supernatural anecdotes. If Edwards had told any truth at all, it was that La Luxure Royale was rife with spectral activity. Though prone to bouts of naughtiness, such as spoiling fresh milk just after it had been bought and putting tacks in the dancers' ballet slippers, the ghosts were normally friendly and generous, so long as they were shown the same respect in return. The ghost of an old spinster liked to be left a piece of stale cake at the end of the week, another preferred it if shoes were not worn in room three, another liked his seat to be saved at the bar on Thursdays with a glass of Remy Martin ("And don't give him that cheap stuff," said the harlequin. "If the two glasses smashed on the floor are any indication, he'll know the difference. Just because he's dead don't mean he's dumb").

"But the Mistress," said the toadstool, slipping into a dreamy speech, "she's the most elegant lady. The legend goes that she was a young woman from Haiti who fell in love with the Master of this house only thirty years ago. Because her status as a slave meant she could never have his heart, she took the lover's leap off***** of the highest balcony. With such a sad life, you'd think that there'd be stories about hearing her wailing in the night or folks seeing her ghost jump to her death, but it's the complete opposite. Most of us have never seen her, but you can feel the Grace in the air whenever she's around, and there's always the smell of wild strawberries near her. It's because of her regal kindness that the ghosts behave. But lately it's been different. Not only have the minor spirits been acting up, but there's been such a heavy feeling in this place. And not that kind of fear that's all in your head, but a physical weight that pulls everything down. Sometimes the air has a smell of wet earth, like a fresh grave..." The performers shifted from foot to foot and cast their eyes to the floor.

"'The legend goes?" Ciel repeated. "Why resort to believing in a legend instead of looking through city records?"

"Because slaves weren't considered real people," Artemis side with an angry side-glance. "You won't find any _record_ of her having existed at all."

"Of course, we don't expect you to know that about American culture," Jacob intervened.

"No, it's my fault," Ciel said. The performers looked to him with raised brows. "Well, it is," Ciel continued. "I should have done some learning about slavery in America before I came here, knowing that this house was once a plantation, but I didn't and I feel I should apologise for my ignorance. Forgive me." He closed his eyes and bowed his head. When he looked up, the performers were still giving him that unsure expression but they soon nodded gently.

"It's fine," said the androgynous burlesque dancer.

"So this Mistress," Ciel said, "you believe that she is killing white men for revenge?"

The performers screamed with laughter. Artemis was the only one able to form a coherent sentence between his gasps. "Is that what that piece of shit Inspector told you we said?"

"I'm guessing it's not true," Ciel said.

Artemis rolled his eyes and turned to touch up his running face paint in the mirror. "The Mistress wouldn't be so petty as to be undiscriminating." He applied another layer of dark lipstick and rubbed his lips together, pulling them apart then so they made a popping sound. "No, those men were scum and she knew why."

"Do you?" Ciel asked.

Artemis paused before he said, "No." He capped the lipstick and turned to face Ciel. "No, none of us do."

"How can you be so sure then that she is the one committing these crimes if the motive is unknown?" Ciel asked.

"Because we can just tell, okay?" Artemis spat.

"You can just _tell_?" Ciel pushed.

"Well, it wasn't any of us!" Artemis said as he rose out of his chair. "Not the staff, not the customers."

"Thieves in the night?" Sebastian suggested.

"Nothing was stolen," Jacob said. "They still had their watches and their jewelry and their wallets were full. Didn't the Inspector tell you that?"

"No, he did not," Ciel said flatly. Again, Artemis rolled his eyes and crossed his arms. It took everything Ciel had not to do the same. "Well," he said loudly to gather himself, "Thank you for speaking with us, everyone. We may have more questions for you in the future, but we won't keep you any longer tonight." The performers gave their thanks in return and left the room to entertain the Royale guests. "Jacob," Ciel said, turning to the host, "might you show us the rooms in which the bodies were found?"

"_Bien sûr, mon cher garcon_******! Come with me," Jacob turned to leave the room and muttered to himself, "Although I still think you're too young for things like this." He led both Earl and Butler to the marble staircase near the entrance and up to the second floor. "They were each found in separate rooms, one week after the other," Jacob said over his shoulder as he ascended the stairs.

"I hope I do not offend you by asking," Sebastian said, "but why were rooms still rented out after the murders started occurring?"

"Believe me, I tried to force them out," Jacob said, "but they wouldn't have it. They had traveled too far, they said, to be scared away by 'some ghost story.'" He sighed sadly. "Fools. You see, they would holiday here in New Orleans for a little more than a month every year and the Royale became their favourite place to stay. I had suggested to them so many different hotels and inns that they would have enjoyed, but they would not take no for an answer. And I hate to throw people out the door."

"Do you know why that may be?" Ciel asked.

Jacob shrugged lightly. "Who's to say?" he said. "I have been told by many types of people that my club has a certain _je ne sais quoi_. A _joie de vivre_, if you will."

"Who found the bodies?" Sebastian asked.

"Different people each time," Jacob answered. "The first was a kitchen boy delivering room service. The second... ah, who was it... Oh, yes, the new maid. Poor thing, she has recently quit because of all these dreadful discoveries. The third was myself, unfortunately, and it is a sight that I will not soon forget. The fourth was by Catarina. Such a loyal girl. She will do anything to keep patrons from going anywhere near the bedrooms. And the fifth was Artemis."

"... No editorial for him?" Ciel asked.

"What do you mean?" Jacob said.

"Well, I just heard his reaction to the deaths down in the dressing room," Ciel explained. "He did not seem very sympathetic."

"Yes, well Artemis is very... dismissive of men," Jacob said carefully. "He's really a very kind person but he has little patience for those he finds foolish."

"Why men in particular?" the Butler asked.

"Due to his dance form he attracts many admirers, you see, most being the male of the species," Jacob smirked. "But he's very chaste and he thinks their romantic pursuits are irksome."

"So the name 'Artemis' holds much significance," Sebastian smiled. He and Jacob exchanged suggestive glances and Ciel felt glad not to be included in this understanding. He had no more interest in dissecting mythology.

"Ah! Here we are," Jacob exclaimed. They arrived outside of a door with a large golden six nailed into it. "This is where the first man was found," he told them. The room looked normal enough. It held a large bed complete with a peach coloured duvet, an oak chest at the foot of it, a bureau whose mirror was carved through with pineapples, a sitting chair by the window on which sat an unopened book. "The Inspector and his men have already been through all of them, but you're welcome to look around. The others were found in rooms two, five, seven and ten." He handed Ciel a large ring of keys before a voice called Jacob's name from the bottom of the staircase. "Oh! If you two would excuse me. I will be back in a flash." He stepped out and left his guests to their snooping.

"Well," said the frustrated little Lord, "if we can't meet with the Coroner, we will offically have nothing to go on."

"Let us not get ahead of ourselves, Young Master," Sebastian tried to still Ciel's temper. "Now that we're here we may find something yet."

"The only thing I've found is more secrets." Ciel yawned and said, "Alright, let's split up then. It'll be faster that way. I don't want to hang around here any longer than we have to. You inspect the odd numbers, I'll look through the even."

"Yes, sir." Sebastian bowed.

Ciel walked into the corridor and headed for room ten so he could work his way down. The atmosphere was eerie, so empty was the second floor and so far removed from the merriment below. In the ballroom, it was simple to forget that the club was in the middle of an ongoing murder investigation. He supposed that was why Jacob much preferred to be on the first floor. As Ciel walked, all that he could hear was his cushioned footsteps against the plush purple carpet.

_'This place really seems to favour purple,'_ Ciel thought. Then he slapped his own forehead. _'Oh, right. It was an _indigo_ plantation. Got it. I can't tell whether or not that's in poor taste. Maybe these things were always here. Why am I so concerned with colour palettes?' _He had reached room ten and was pushing the key into the lock when he saw something moving in his periphery. He turned and was hit with a sudden fit of vertigo. It was a woman that he was seeing, but she appeared the way she would have if Ciel had still been looking from the corner of his eye. Her features were distinguishable but blurred, a familiar stranger. She was tall with slender ebony limbs and long, plaited black hair. Her white dress was down to her knees and a rope was tied around her waist. She looked at Ciel calmly for a moment before ascending up a red-carpeted staircase at the far end of the corridor. Ciel removed his key and made to approach her so that he may ask a few more questions.

"Excuse me!"

Ciel whipped around to see Catarina. Her voice was pleasant but seeing the way she wrung her hands, something was distressing her. "The third floor is off limits," she told the guest.

"Off limits?" Ciel said. "But anyone could just walk-" He turned to point out the flaw in security and saw that the staircase was gone. Instead, there was a pair of double doors, painted in white and sealed with an ornate locking mechanism crafted from bronze. His mouth fell open as he stared at what he could have sworn was not there a moment ago.

"... You saw someone walk up there?" Catarina asked, her voice shaking a bit.

Ciel rubbed his face and shook his head. "I'm just tired from all of this traveling, I think."

"Of course," Catarina smiled. "I'm sure the hour isn't helping either. You'd better get back to your butler. You both will come back to us another night, yes?"

"Yes," Ciel said, blinking hard. "Good night." As he was walking past her, Catarina grabbed hold of both of his hands and pressed them to her lips.

"Thank God you're here," she whispered. She cupped his cheek and looked at him for another moment before moving away down the marble staircase. Ciel stared after her as she ran off in the direction of the ballroom, holding her skirts above her knees. It wasn't long until Sebastian joined him.

"And what's going on out here?" he asked slyly.

Ciel's answer drifted in the air. "Nothing..." He cleared his throat and turned to the Butler. "Did you find anything?"

"Nothing of interest. What about you?"

"I didn't get to look."

"Why n-"

"Sebastian!" Ciel said sharply. "Frankly, I'm exhausted and I'm done playing around here. We'll do a proper search after we have a more tangible lead."

"Yes, my Lord," Sebastian said. They walked downstairs to thank their host for the evening and left for their own hotel to rest.

* * *

***Lover's Leap is the name given to any high drop that could result in death. Essentially it's a romantic name for suicide. Don't look at me like that! I didn't come up with it.**

****This means, "Of course, my dear boy." At least I think it does. You'll all have to excuse my butchered French. I think I'll be using it often in this story. And not just because they're in New Orleans, but because it's a cue I'm taking from Wilde again. Whenever he would write for a pretentious character who thought of themselves as especially worldly, he would have them throw in a random French phrase every two sentences. So if you're annoyed by it, don't worry- you should be. :P**


	5. Mournography

**Hello, dearest readers. So. The current manga arc. Yeah. I'm in all the love. It's like Circus Arc 2.0. Everything that makes Black Butler _Black Butlerlicious_ is in it. Seriously, for those of you who aren't caught up- _what are you doing?_ Get on that!**

**Anyway. I've brewed a pot of Earl Grey lavender tea and I'm sharing it with all of you in my mind. This is a long one.**

* * *

"I understand completely, Inspector," Sebastian spoke into the transmitter, "and I thank you for your efforts." He paused and listened to the man on the other end of the line. "Yes, we will. Thank you for your time. Good day." After this, he set the telephone down and turned to the Young Master. "The Coroner has agreed to speak with us," he said, "but we've been denied permission to inspect the bodies."

The two were spending the morning in their hotel room and Ciel sat at the small table by the window enjoying his continental breakfast. "Why am I not surprised?" he sighed. He took a sip of coffee and asked, "What do you think of the Inspector, Sebastian?"

"It's too early to say," he answered. "I do not think, however, that he is the bumbling innocent he wants us to believe he is."

Ciel nodded and pushed himself away from the table. "Has an appointment already been set up for us?"

"Yes," Sebastian said. "It is for half past noon today. Have you planned a course of action, my Lord?"

"I have, but it requires that you be extra sneaky."

Sebastian bowed low. "I am the butler of the Phantomhive family. It goes without saying-"

"-that you can manage something like this, I know," Ciel cut him off and stood up. "We have to get moving if we're going to be there on time."

"Yes, sir." They both left the dayroom and made to prepare for the day.

Ciel's plan was to meet with the Coroner on his own while Sebastian studied the cadavers. It wasn't often that a coroner doubled as a mortician, but according to Edwards the man was a master of his craft. The house was a small manor in a residential neighborhood that bordered the city, with slate grey turrets and many Gothic windows covered by black curtains. Unlike the other homes that lined the sleepy street, no living flower stood in the soil beds out front, only dried weeds and the naked bulbs of poppies. The trees that took up acreage in the garden were twisted and bare and altogether the house looked like it lived in eternal winter.

"Perhaps you should not enter this place alone," the Butler admonished.

"I won't be alone," Ciel said. "You'll still be there, only in a different room. And besides, just because this man is peculiar doesn't mean he's dangerous." From above, a crow squawked twice and burst from an attic window of the mortuary, leaving behind it a trail of downy black fluff. Sebastian looked down at the Master with a raised eyebrow. "I'll yell if I need assistance," Ciel said. Sebastian nodded and moved away. "Where are you going to look?" Ciel asked him.

The Butler smiled. "Wherever my nose takes me."

"Oh." Ciel cringed internally.

The Butler crept around the side of the house as Ciel made his way up the stairs. They were wooden, cracked and splintering under his shoes. The front door was imposing, painted in black, with an iron knocker in the form of a gryphon. Because of its weight, the call Ciel made sounded dull and plodding but very quickly a metal slot slid open just above eye level.

"Who are you?" came a tight voice. Ciel looked up at the eye behind the door, the colour of gruel and very watery.

"I am Earl Phantomhive. Inspector Edwards set up an appointment for us to discuss the records of the deceased in the Royale murder case."

"Why are you alone?"

Ciel was confused. "I'm sorry?"

"Why are you alone?" the Coroner repeated severely. "Edwards said that Phantomhive had an older man with him. A butler."

"I sent him off on another lead," Ciel said.

"Do you swear?!"

"I swear." And for the record, it was technically true.

"You want to learn about the victims?" The Coroner's eyes shifted from side to side rapidly.

"Yes."

"... Alright." The slot flew shut. There were clinking and shuffling sounds of many locks being undone and the door was opened. Barely, but opened it was. "Come in," the Coroner said, his person still concealed. Ciel had to walk through the door frame sideways, as the Coroner refused to open it any further. He then slammed it shut behind Ciel and locked it up again.

Although the sun was at its highest point outside, the inside of the house was dark as twilight. The Coroner shuffled off in front of Ciel without a word. Ciel took it that he was meant to follow. In the darkness, he could see that his host walked hunched forward with his hands held together, a bit like a rat. He lead Ciel to a sitting room done up in muted shades of blue. There were hollowed out spaces all around the walls and each were home to glass jars of varying shapes and sizes, housing all types of macabre curios. One held a two-headed foetus floating in viscous amber fluid, another in the shape of a Valentine's heart held an anatomical heart surrounded by layers of thick fat. There were skeletons, too, occupying space in this room, of strange creatures with wings on their backs and horns in odd places.

"You can sit right there." The Coroner broke Ciel out of his trance and pointed to a couch. Ciel did as he was told and sunk deep down into the cushions, so far that he felt the box spring underneath him. Again the Coroner left his guest without any explanation and Ciel wondered if Sebastian had gotten inside yet.

-}%{-

The Butler found his way into the garden, which was bare aside from an empty fountain and model gravestones chiseled with model names. Would it be too bold of him to simply enter through the back door? It wasn't as though the task he had been assigned wasn't bold enough to begin with, so after surveying his surroundings for onlookers (and accessing his demonic power to undo an endless series of locks) he stepped inside.

The silence within was smothering. Every surface was spotlessly clean, almost to the point of being clinically sterile. Not surprising as the building did serve as medical centre of sorts, but judging by the kettle on the stove and an open morning paper it may have also been a residency. Hearing no approaching footsteps, Sebastian walked on and attuned his senses to unearthing decay. He moved noiselessly through narrow, paneled corridors when the softest pitter-patter of foot falls sounded just ahead. Tensing his muscles for future attack, Sebastian whipped around the corner and-

"MREOW!" Seated on delicate haunches was a gorgeous flaxen feline, looking up at the Butler with impossibly pretty marine eyes. Forgetting all sense of urgency, Sebastian knelt and gave it a tickle under the chin. It purred and tenderly brushed its little head against his hand.

"Ah, if only we had met in another place, little one," the Butler whispered, "we would have more time to play."

"MREOW!"

"No, no, my sweet. You must stay very quiet, lest you alert your owner of my presence here."

"_mreow~_"

Sebastian smiled and rubbed its head. "That's a good kitty," he said. "But I must go now." He gave the cat one last stroke along its back and stood up. His friend scuttled past him and out of sight. Sebastian sighed and straightened his tie. Back to business.

His nose led him to a tall, thin door where three corridors met. It, too, was fastened with several different types of locks all of which were easily undone and re-done with hellish intervention. Listening first for any sounds, the Butler opened the door and walked down the stairs and into the abyss.

-}%{-

The Coroner came back to Ciel holding a silver tea tray that was actually quite lovely, very refined and antique looking. On it rested a matching tea set and a plate of fresh funeral biscuits*****. The Coroner poured the tea and, disappointment of disappointments, it looked like murky water and had absolutely no steam leaving it. Ciel accepted the cup with quiet thanks, and proceeded to add a teaspoon of sugar to it. There was a bowl of milk as well, but he could smell from where he sat that it was spoiled.

"You wanted to see the records?" The Coroner clarified. He struck a long match alight and put the flame to an oil lamp. At once the room was lit and Ciel could not say he was shocked by the Coroner's appearance. His skin was ashen and chalky, his hair thinning and pale. He was also painfully thin and the veins in his bony, shaking hands bulged.

"Yes," Ciel said calmly. "I hope that doesn't make you angry."

"No. I'm confused."

Ciel took a sip of tea and it tasted only of sugar. He supposed that was better than it tasting foul.

"Don't you believe me?" The Coroner asked with a touch of desperation.

"It isn't that," said Ciel, "it's only that I was never actually told what the cause of death was."

"Oh. Well. Alright then." The Coroner had a death grip on the files since entering the room and here he finally handed them to his guest. Ciel flipped open the cover of the first folder belonging to a Mister Seymour Smith. Age: 55. Cause of Death: Unknown.

"... The Inspector said the cause of death had been confirmed," Ciel said slowly.

"It has been," said the Coroner.

"The cause of death is 'Unknown?'"

"Yes."

"... Okay..." It wasn't much of a confirmation but seeing as Ciel was beginning to smell conspiracy, it was best to stand upwind for now. "So it's true what I've been told?" Ciel said. "That there were no noticeable markings found on the bodies? And that prior to their deaths, they had been in the best of health?"

"Yes, that's correct," The Coroner rocked back and forth slightly as he spoke. "It's most strange. Never seen anything like it."

"And they were found in their beds?"

"Yes. Like they fell asleep and never woke up," answered the Coroner.

"Huh." Ciel continued to scan the paper. Place of Birth: Sheffield, England. Birth Date: 4 August 1834. _'__Born in:__ Saint John's Infirmary... ?!' _

"What's wrong?" asked the Coroner.

Ciel looked up quickly. "Oh, nothing. I only noticed that I was born in the same hospital as this man was."

"Oh." The Coroner took a long drink of brown water.

Ciel flipped through the other files and said, "Would you mind terribly if I were to take these with me?"

"No!" Spittle and droplets of tea sprayed from the Coroner's mouth. "I mean to say, yes, I would mind! Those are mine! You can't take them with you."

"I only ask because-"

"It doesn't matter why you ask because they don't leave this place!" the Coroner interrupted rudely. "So take a good look while you can, Mister Beehive."

"My name is Earl _Phantom_hive."

"Do all Brits have such strange names?"

_'Do all Americans drink such horrid tea?' _Ciel smiled sweetly and stayed silent. "I will study them here then," he said out loud. As he glanced back down, he noticed a pen sitting on the tea table and was struck with an idea. Looking about him with renewed interest he said, "These are quite unique collectables you have in this room, sir."

Something in the Coroner's attitude brightened. "They're all one of a kind."

"Are they?" Ciel smiled. "I'm especially curious about that... fish, is it? Behind you."

The Coroner turned sharply, thankful for the inquiry and grateful to longer have to make eye contact. "Yes, it is. This is the preserved carcass of a female angler fish. Though females tend to be much larger than the males, this one is unusually so, her fangs being..."

As the Coroner babbled on about the fish, Ciel took the pen and hitched up his trousers to expose his right thigh. He pressed the pen's tip to his skin and began to scribble rapidly, _'Seymour Smith, 1834, Sheffield, Saint John's Infirmary.' _He moved on to the next file. _'Yves Dubois, 1836, Calais, Hôpital de Jean-Baptiste.'_

"... which proved nearly impossible to find, considering how deep down in the ocean they live."

Ciel covered up his writings just as his host turned back around. "Are all of these creatures sea-dwellers?"

"Oh, no, no, no." The Coroner turned his back again. "This one, for example, flew through the air. It is a Desmodus rotundus, or what is more commonly known as the vampire bat. What is intriguing about this fellow in particular are the clumps of calcification in the joints of its wings..."

_'George Carr, 1835, Hamburg, Klinikum Hamburg...'_

-}%{-

The cellar was about as musty as the Butler expected it to be and very cold. He stretched out his arms and his palms made contact with solid stone.

"Now to find a light," he muttered. Finding his footing before leaving the staircase, he carried on in complete darkness. It was not something that his eyes were unaccustomed to dealing with, but he had become a bit spoiled over the years with oils and wicks forever at his disposal. The switch to an electric lamp eventually found its way between his fingers and he bravely turned it on. Its eerie light was almost green, giving the underground mortuary an even more antiseptic glow. The walls on either side of him were fitted with metal drawers, each one numbered in Roman numerals from one to twenty. In the middle of the room stood a slab upon which sat several vials of colourful chemicals and a neat stack of manila envelopes. Sebastian lifted them up and sorted through them, referring to the list of names given to him by the Master via Her Majesty. The first name he came across was a Monsieur Dubois. The notes that were taken for his clean-up looked to be standard procedure: brushing and trimming of the hair, cleaning of the teeth, shaving the beard. No suturing or stitching or any other such bodily mending was done to him. According to the notes, he currently rested in drawer number fifteen. With a simple gesture of his hand, Sebastian commanded it to roll out, displaying the body of the late Dubois.

He was dressed and ready for his funeral, his loved ones either currently making the trip to New Orleans or sending for his body to come home. He wore a black suit and as Sebastian stood over him he had to admire the Coroner's artistry. Every finite feature, down to the cut of the nails and the shape of the brows were prim and cared for. The Coroner had even managed to find a powder bright enough to imitate a lively glow in the corpse's face, though it was just a powder. The strides humans have made in the grooming and embalming processes never failed to fascinate the Butler. Every year they were refined just a bit further. Why was that? The obsession with beauty or, conversely, the fear of ugliness? Their desperate search for proof of life after death? Or perhaps it was just the denial of decay. And though their work was duly noted, it had to be said that their procedures did not _ease_ anything. Even this finely preserved specimen was beginning to rot, although not in a way that the naked human eye could easily see. Why, if they could see that... Sebastian chuckled and pushed up his sleeves. No time to indulge in thoughts so humorous. He had a job to do.

With polished delicacy, the Butler began to undo the buttons on the man's garments to inspect bare skin. Immediately, the blotches of powder on the chest caught his attention. Not wanting to brush it away and risk discovery, Sebastian instead ran his hands gently along the body's back. He paused just under the shoulder blades.

"Hullo. What have we here?" he mumbled to the darkness.

-}%{-

Upstairs in the sitting room, Ciel finally managed to finish scrawling the names on his leg. It wasn't a difficult task in itself, but the stress of never being sure when the Coroner would turn around drained him of energy. He set the pen back on the table, his gaze never leaving the Coroner's back. As the ink on his skin was still slightly wet, Ciel fanned the words as discreetly as he could with the files.

In those few moments that Ciel looked away he heard his host say, "What're you doing?"

Ciel placed his hand over his notes and continued fanning himself. "Oh, I'm just so unused to this kind of heat."

"Well, don't do that!" The Coroner snapped. "You'll bend the paper."

Ciel stopped cooling himself and apologised. "Forgive me. I think I'm finished looking through them anyway."

"Good." The Coroner snatched the files away and stuffed them under his arm.

"Thank you very much for your time, sir," Ciel said as he began to stand. "I hate to intrude like this, but I must know that I am doing all I can to help Mister Mitchell."

The Coroner mumbled something under his breath that sounded like they could have been words but probably weren't. He bent down to take away the tea tray when something fell from the breast pocket of his coat. It was a small surgical syringe. It was then that Ciel noticed the dark, gnarled tracks****** winding around his brittle wrists just under his shirtsleeves. The hush that ensued was deadly.

The Coroner looked Ciel straight in the eye. "Get out."

Ciel exited the room swiftly without a word but the Coroner pursued him.

"Get out!"

Ciel's pace shifted to a run as he neared the door.

"GET OUT!"

He had barely undone the final lock with fumbling fingers when the Coroner was upon him, beating at the air around him with his fists. The little Lord had only just found safety on the porch when the door banged shut behind him. He ran down the steps and turned around in a circle. The Butler was nowhere in sight. _'Sebastian. Come.'_

-}%{-

"That is very strange indeed," Sebastian said as he concluded his examination of the last victim. He began to button up the cadaver's clothing when he heard a commotion from above. The familiar sound of the Master's small feet scampered across the floor, followed by thunderous steps. A man is yelling, a door is slammed and he is summoned. The same loud footsteps started pounding towards the cellar door. Calling on his demonic tricks, Sebastian dressed the body he had just finished with and sent it flying back into its temporary tomb. He arranged the mortician's notes in the order he had originally found them in, switched off the light and with a flick of his coat tails he was gone.

The Coroner rushed down the stairs, very comfortable in the darkness. He flipped on the light and did a thorough inspection of the room. He unlocked the drawers using the key that he always kept about his neck and pulled out the most recent additions from the Royale. Then he looked through their respective files. Everything seemed to be in order. Realistically, he had nothing to worry about. As nosy as he had been, there was no way that the limey brat could have gotten down here without him knowing. Although... He took in a deep breath and smelled... what was it... the stench of expensive cologne...?

Ciel had walked halfway down the street before he was joined by the Butler.

"Were you going to abandon me, my Lord?" Sebastian asked with staged woe.

"I didn't want to wait around outside of the house," Ciel said. "It would look suspicious."

"I see that you were not able to nab the records," the Butler said after noticing the Master's empty hands.

"No," Ciel said, turning to Sebastian. "He wouldn't let me take them. But I did manage to write down some key information. And what about you? What did you find?"

"I found wounds on the bodies that make the tale of the Mistress ever more romantic."

Ciel stopped walking. "So there were markings on the victims?"

"Not only that," Sebastian said, "but each body had matching afflictions." Ciel looked bewildered, as did a small group of ladies who stood fanning themselves nearby. Sebastian smiled at them and pulled Ciel close so they could speak without being overheard. "But perhaps we should discuss this back in our room," he whispered, "so that we may have some privacy." The Butler flagged down a passing coach and directed the driver to their hotel.

* * *

***Funeral biscuits were a specific confection made exclusively for funerals. They could be flavoured with any number of things, but were most commonly made with caraway seeds. They actually have a very interesting history and I encourage any Victorian nerd to read into them. I myself always have some on hand. You just never know with this Toboso person _what_ she's planning next...**

****Tracks is the slang term for the scars made by a heroin needle. Again, google at your own risk.**

**p.s. I think this is the first "Sebastian meets a kitty" scene that I've ever written. I feel like I've just become part of a particular League of Fan Fiction writers now. And I'm all for it!**


	6. Whooo Aaare Yooou?

**Hello, again. I think twenty-something followers in less than ten chapters is a record for me, and I have a sneaking suspicion that it's because of Artemis. Which is great! He's a cool character, and we'll be getting to know him better in the next chapter. For now, here's a little more detective work.**

* * *

"Master," Sebastian began, eyeing the little Lord who lay sprawled out upon the stone floor with his clothes pushed up his body as far as they would go, "might I ask what are you doing?"

"It's the only way to keep cool in this wretched heat!" Ciel groaned with closed eyes. Turning his head to the Butler, he opened them a bit and said, "I hope that tea isn't hot."

"It's pineapple juice," Sebastian smiled, "and it's iced." He put the small serving tray on the dining table and handed the glass to Ciel. "So if the Coroner was so protective of his information," he said, "how were you able to write without him knowing?"

Wiping his mouth after a long drink Ciel said, "Good old fashioned distraction. I got him to jabber on about his dead friends while I wrote the names on my thigh." He pulled up his right trouser leg to display the names of the deceased. Sebastian tilted his head a little for a clearer view to copy the names into a small notebook he kept in his coat.

"Is that a method you exercise often?" he asked, his voice taking on a bit of chill.

"... No." Ciel covered up the names and took another sip of juice. "Anyway. I thought to write them down after I noticed something off about a minor detail in a record. One of the men was born in Saint John's Infirmary in 1834."

Sebastian shook his head. "I don't follow."

"Well, to my knowledge it burnt down sometime in the 20's."

Sebastian's fingers coiled into a fist and moved under his chin. "That does sound familiar. It was quite the tragedy, yes?"

"Yes, it was. A towering inferno, practically. There were so many casualties that for years afterward the charred remains were left up as a memorial. It was only recently, a few years before I was born, that it was rebuilt."

"So you're thinking that the others may have been faked as well?"

"Correct." Ciel finished his drink and set it beside him. "There's no way to discover what their real history is. Or was." He collapsed back on the cool floor.

"Not necessarily," Sebastian said quietly. Ciel looked to the Butler with hope. "If they were staying at the Royale for an extended time, there's a good chance they were spending gross amounts of money."

"And?"

"And," Sebastian continued after being interrupted, "how do upper class people spend gross amounts of money? With credit. Perhaps by accessing their bank information, we could find their proper identities."

Ciel laughed. "Maybe Edwards is a bumbling innocent. He's not trying that hard."

"If it were anyone else he was attempting to fool," Sebastian said, "it would be a detail easily missed. Even if they had noticed a flaw in birth locations, it would take them months to go about gathering the correct information."

"Speaking of gathering information," Ciel asked, "what did you find?"

"In order to mask the greyness of death, a light powder is applied to the skin to make the corpse appear more life-like," Sebastian said. "The same powder that was on their faces was also on their chests, but cosmetic touch-ups are unnecessary on hidden areas. Of course I could not remove the make-up, but after a bit of poking and prodding I discovered that each body had a broken rib."

Ciel sat straight up at this news. "What?"

"Yes. A piece of fractured rib was jutting forward towards the breast. If the powder was covering markings on the chests, I would venture the guess that there were signs of internal bleeding. Most likely in the lungs, as that would explain the asphyxiation mentioned in Her Majesty's letter and, oddly enough," Sebastian glanced sideways at the Master with a secretive smile, "the heart."

"So they each died of a broken heart?" Ciel asked.

Sebastian shrugged. "You could say that if you wanted to be poetic."

"You're the one who said the wounds made the Mistress story more romantic!" Ciel chided. "So now, the questions are," he went on, "one: Who are the suspects _we_ can find and what is their motivation, two: why is the cause of death being kept secret, three: why are the identities of the victims concealed, and four: is Edwards the orchestrator of it all."

Sebastian chuckled. "You really do not like him do you, my Lord?"

"I don't like anyone who underestimates me."

"How do you know that he is in this alone?"

"I don't." Ciel stood and pulled down his clothes. Sebastian helped him tidy up. "That's why we have to talk to Jacob."

The two rode in a pink and beige carriage down dusty roads to La Luxure Royale.

"Do you think that he will be in so early, Master?" Sebastian asked.

"Let's hope so," Ciel sighed. "Or else I wouldn't know where to find him."

They were left off outside of the club, the building and its gardens as picturesque in the sunlight as a Rembrandt. There were a handful of employees working on the landscape, trimming and pruning. They waved at the Englishmen as they let themselves inside. There was a maid going about dusting every knickknack and it was she who directed them to Jacob's office. It was far in the back of the house, its door wide open and emitting the smell of sweet smoke. Within the office, which was decked out in the same fashion as the rest of the club (minus the human private areas), Jacob leaned back in his chair, both booted feet resting on his desk and puffing rings of smoke into the air with the use of a small blue hookah. His shirt was unbuttoned partway and he was without a waistcoat*****. He was startled at the interruption, but soon became happy.

"Ah, Ciel! Sebastian! So good to see you both again!" He hung the hose across the hookah and put out the coal. "Oh, but what long faces you have. Are you here to deliver some unhappy news?"

"I'm afraid so, Jacob," Ciel said. Jacob motioned for his guests to sit across from him. They did so on gold-cushioned chairs. "We spoke with the Coroner earlier today."

"Did you? How queer!" Jacob said. "He wouldn't even introduce himself to me. What did he say?"

"Well, that's just the thing," Ciel said delicately as he could, "he didn't _say_ anything at all. He persisted that the cause of death is unknown, even though the Queen's summons stated that the men had died of suffocation. And then after reading the files of the dead, I admit I am growing suspicious."

"Suspicious?" Jacob repeated, clearly confused. "Whatever about?"

Ciel chose his words carefully. "Without jumping to conclusions, I noticed something in their histories that didn't quite check out. A hospital in which one of the men was born burned to the ground years before he was even conceived."

Jacob closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair. "Oh, dear. If things weren't a mess to begin with..."

"I haven't looked into the other hospitals, but if one location was faked who knows if the others weren't."

Jacob opened his eyes and nodded. "I understand."

"Thusly, I have a few things to ask you," Ciel said. Jacob nodded and motioned with his hand that he should begin his questionnaire. "First off, about the Inspector and his crew. Have you found their help to be beneficial?"

Jacob leaned his head to one side then the other then back again. His eyes searched the room for an answer and his mouth meant to voice it. "I did," he said uncertainly, "in the beginning. When the first two men were found, he was very thorough with his questions and searches. He inspected the bodies on the spot, which is when he proposed the idea of asphyxiation, and he conducted extensive interviews with me: about possible enemies or rivals I could have made in New Orleans, even ones who might've followed me from England, including ex-wives, ex-lovers, ex-business partners, et cetera. He did the same for all of my employees. But after the third man was killed, he became... what's the word... dismissive." Jacob frowned and cradled his chin in his palm. "All he did say was, 'We'll do what we can' and then I heard very little from him. That's why I wrote home requesting your help."

Ciel and Sebastian looked at each other. "_You_ asked for us?" Ciel asked.

"Well, yes, of course!" Jacob smiled. "I couldn't say that I was _suspicious_ of the Inspector, but I did feel that the local law enforcement was not rushing to bring us any peace." He gazed at the confused faces across from him and asked, "What is it that's baffling you so?"

"Normally, it's the lawmen who make an appeal for our services," Sebastian said.

Jacob grinned and laughed. "No, not this time. Ciel, Sebastian. Haven't you noticed?" he said. "The Inspector doesn't like you at all."

"Is that the truth?" Ciel asked darkly.

Jacob nodded and said, "It is. Here he is, a grown man who has been in law the majority of his life and along comes a boy and his butler who treats all of this as if it's tea time." He laughed again. "He isn't too thrilled about working with you. Ridiculous, isn't it?"

Ciel crossed his legs and arms, not caring how sullen he looked. "Well, we will have a chat with the Inspector as soon as we learn a bit more about these men. So if I may continue with my questions," he said, "do you know about them? Where they were from, how they earned their living, anything?"

Jacob looked down, obviously embarrassed. "To own the truth, Ciel, I do not. You see, I like to think of this place as being built by dreams and phantasies. To discuss banal things such as wages and responsibilities, well, it just dampens the mood." He chuckled but very quickly became somber. "But now I see that I should have been paying closer attention, if only for safety's sake. Perhaps if I had..." He dropped his head into his hands.

"Come now," Ciel tried awkwardly to comfort him, "this wasn't your fault." He wasn't so sure he felt that way, but flattery is the best tool for cooperation. "You couldn't have predicted that something like this would happen."

"I thank you for your condolence, but I am partly responsible for not taking more preventative measures." His voice was distant, having run off with his eyes that were staring out the window. Jacob sighed and looked back to Ciel. "Is there anything I can do?"

"There is actually," Ciel said. "How did they pay for their time here?"

"Credit, naturally."

Ciel felt a little rush of progress. "Would you happen to have any past receipts from their credit information?"

Jacob thought for a moment and his face brightened. "Why, yes. Yes, I have! Let me just look here..." He stood from his chair and walked to a bamboo cabinet. He pulled out a middle drawer and it was packed full to bursting with unorganised papers sticking out like fins in a pod of dolphins. Jacob smiled at his guests and angled his body to block the mess from their view. He thumbed through the papers for a very long time, so long that Ciel had taken up the habit of studying his fingernails while Sebastian bird-watched. Finally, Jacob chose a few receipts and brought them back to his desk. "Sorry about the wait, friends," he apologised as he removed the hookah on his desk. "I've never been very orderly." He handed the receipts to Ciel who passed them off to Sebastian. "The most recent receipts from each person. But if I may ask, how will this help? Surely you don't mean to visit these banks."

"Of course," Ciel said.

"But that would take months!"

Ciel shrugged. "I have my ways."

Jacob leaned back in his chair again and smiled. "You really are Vincent's son."

Ciel looked at him, genuinely curious. "Did you know him well?"

"Not as well as I would have liked to," Jacob languished. "I was without direction or purpose back then so it was rare that I saw him, as we were part of two _very_ different social circles. But whenever we did chance to speak, I found his cleverness positively magnetic. He was an interesting man. His wife, your mother, I only met once. You were with her, come to think of it. Again, we only spoke briefly, but I remember her being very amiable and warm. Such a shame..."

Ciel, having grown sufficiently uncomfortable and sad, rose to leave. "Thank you very much for your help, Jacob. We will be assessing these as soon as possible."

"Oh, but won't you stay for tea?" Jacob begged. "I just received a gorgeous tin of gyokuro straight from the Land of the Rising Sun****** this morning."

Although he missed gourmet brews, Ciel politely declined. "I appreciate your invitation, but we must keep at our work."

"If you insist," Jacob lamented. "But you really must learn to rest every now and again, my boy. Otherwise you'll be grey before you turn twenty! I, for one, am proud to report that at thirty-seven I have not a single grey hair on my entire head."

Ciel nodded. "Is that so..."

"That's right! Now be off with you, lest I brew the tea and force it into your hands!"

The three bid each other good afternoon and Ciel and Sebastian rode in a similar carriage back to their hotel.

"I hope you're feeling adventurous, Sebastian," Ciel said as they once again entered their luxury suite. "You've got a lot of traveling to do."

"That I have," Sebastian chuckled as he flipped through the receipts. He looked to Ciel and saw him pouting at the window. "Is something troubling you, my Lord?"

"I was just thinking," Ciel said, "their identities cannot have been faked entirely, otherwise their credit wouldn't have gone through. Not to mention the family would have no idea of their whereabouts. What protection is there by faking their birth locations?"

"You will just have to wait patiently while I find out," Sebastian said.

"You're leaving right now?"

"Will you be lonely?" Sebastian teased.

"No!" Ciel snapped. "Just thought I'd ask."

"Are you quite sure?" Sebastian continued to taunt. "Perhaps I should wait until you are asleep?"

"Just forget it!" Ciel plopped down on a settee. "I'm sorry I said anything."

"It is understandable, my Lord. Being in a foreign country with an unfamiliar culture why you should be so resentful of my leaving."

"I am not resentful!"

"Shh. There is no need to shout, Young Master."

"Grr!"

Then it was quiet between them.

"Are you waiting for something?" Ciel glowered.

"Your order, of course."

"Sebastian. Journey to the hospitals and confirm their legitimacy. Then, use the bank information to discover their true origins."

Sebastian bowed with his right hand over his heart. "Yes, my Lord."

Ciel blinked and he was alone. He stood up and turned in a circle. The suite he had been posted in was lovely, all ivory brocade and sheer curtains, but it did not have the depth of his own home and he felt like a stranger. There was a chessboard on the tea table, but it's no fun playing alone. There was a veranda, but his cheeks were already burnt despite minimum sun exposure. He looked out the window at the streets below, but recalled an early warning from the Butler about the high crime rate in New Orleans. After much dawdling about the suite doing nothing, Ciel remembered that he had seen a library downstairs. He picked up his key and went off to collect some books. It was in that way that he spent most of the afternoon, reading literature about the Civil War, particularly works by Walt Whitman. He was especially fond of, "Oh Captain, my Captain!" a metaphorical poem detailing Lincoln's assassination. He closed the book to rest his bleary eyes and looked below the window again. The sun was sinking lower and many women had taken to wearing shawls around their shoulders, though even through the open window Ciel could not feel a chill. Suddenly, the breeze brought in the faint smell of lilac. He turned his head to the right and saw a little shop hidden below a bough of the clusters of purple flowers. Feeling oddly drawn to it, he left his room to inspect it.

As he walked nearer and nearer to the shop, his vision seemed to grow more narrow so that the surrounding buildings were overcome by shadow. Something like whispers or soft music drifted from this shop and danced about his ears. Above the glass door were a small configuration of silver wind chimes and an eye pendant with an iris of turquoise. He reached out for the door handle, but drew his hand back quickly as it opened before he had even touched it. His senses were accosted by a gust of patchouli oil and smouldering herbaceous odours. A boy a little older than he stood before Ciel, a small hemp satchel hanging off his shoulder.

"Hello!" He smiled warmly. "How are you?"

Ciel was puzzled by the stranger's familiarity. "I'm fine... I'm sorry, have we met?"

"Yeah," answered the boy. Then his brows furrowed. "Well, sort of. We were never properly introduced. It was kind of a tense environment and I was wearing a wig."

Ciel was taken aback at first but thought for a moment. He soon recognised the black eyes, tanned skin, lean form. "Artemis," he said.

"Is my stage name," the dancer smiled. "My everyday name is Tristan." He put out his hand and Ciel shook it. "And what's your name?" Tristan asked.

Ciel considered giving his formal introduction, but for some reason changed his mind. "My name is Ciel," he said.

"Nice to meet you." Tristan took back his hand and looked around. "You're not wandering around on your own, are you, Ciel? Where's your manservant?"

"He's running some errands," Ciel said.

"So you _are_ alone." Tristan sounded concerned.

"Yes, I suppose. But I'm staying in that hotel down the road." Ciel turned and pointed to his interim home. "I'm not far from it. I can see this shop from my window."

"... Alright. I won't baby you." Tristan adjusted his bag and changed the subject. "So, were you about to go inside?" He gestured behind him to the whispering shop.

Ciel shook his head aggressively. "No, no. I only wanted to know what it was."

There was a pause. Tristan seemed to be thinking about whether or not he should tell the truth.

"It's an occult shop," he eventually stated. "To buy magickal stuff."

"And you bought something?" Ciel asked, observing the satchel.

Tristan gave Ciel a look that he felt was mischievous. "Yes," he said, almost boastful, as he began to walk away. "Gotta problem?"

Ciel looked at the occult shop one last time before following. "No," he said. "Everyone does something different."

"Yeah," Tristan said thoughtfully. "So. Are you hungry?"

"Hmm?"

"I was on my way home to make some dinner. You're welcome to join me."

Ciel was quiet. It suddenly occurred to him that he was indeed very hungry, but he hadn't once thought about how he was going to feed himself. He never had to think about that. There was, of course, a restaurant in the hotel, but the thought of sitting alone in the crowded dining room made him fraught. "I don't want to be a bother," he said out of habit.

"It's not a bother at all!" Tristan insisted.

"..."

"What else are you gonna do? Eat alone?"

"Yes."

Tristan threw back his head and laughed. "Come with me. I may not be a professional like those guys in there-" he pointed at the hotel that the two were quickly passing- "but I'm a really good cook. I promise."

Ciel hesitated. He could dine at an exclusive hotel with golden tableware and crystal wine glasses, or he could follow a vagabond crossdresser and possibly sit on the floor and eat with his hands. He could also, however, glean some information from this deviant. Ah, well. When in Rome.

"Alright." Ciel smiled his best smile. "Thank you."

Tristan clapped his hands. "Yay! I'll make you some good New Orleans food. Way more authentic than you'd eat in some ritzy hotel. Not like their food is bad, it's just- uh, anyway! You'll love it. This way! Oh, and stay close. It's kind of a sketchy area."

Ciel rolled his eyes. "Trust me, Tristan. I spend about as much time in 'sketchy areas' as I do in my own home."

Tristan shrugged and laughed again. "Okay, boss." Keeping Ciel close anyway, he lead him through progressively grittier streets to his shoebox of a flat.

* * *

***Unbuttoned shirts and absent waistcoats made a man look practically naked back in the day.**

****Gyokuro is a very fine Japanese green tea that's grown in the shade. You may recognise the word "Kuro" in there. And, as I'm sure many of you know, the Land of the Rising Sun is Japan.**


	7. Tête-à-tête

**This chapter was _so difficult _to write. And I realised it's because no actual progression is made. It's purely character development and I've never really written a chapter like that before. All that happens here is wine drinking, magic doing and chicken eating. Also, it's long. Hopefully you like it anyway. And if you don't, sorry I'm not sorry. :P **

* * *

According to logic the two had left the occult shop far behind, but upon first glance at the place he now stood in, Ciel could swear that was what he had just stepped into. The flat had the same sort of smell, the earthy spice of patchouli and the lingering of smoking herbs. It was tiny and crowded with glass jars full of dried plants. There also wasn't much furniture, although Ciel did note that there was a dining table in the kitchen. No sitting on the floor for him.

"Welcome to my humble abode!" Tristan said with a grandiose sweep of his arms. He began to move about lighting candles and lamps. "I hope you don't mind the smell. I burn a lot of incense and oils."

Ciel nodded a little, only half listening, as he was engrossed in reading the labels of the herb-filled jars. Mugwort, yarrow, wood aloe, even frankincense and myrrh. But it was the jar Tristan pulled from his satchel that struck Ciel's fancy.

"Dragon's Blood?" he read out loud. "What's that?"

Tristan asked, "You know how meat is made kosher?" Ciel shook his head. "Well," he continued, "what they do is they take the animal, normally a pig or a cow, and they hang it upside down. Then they slit its throat to bleed it out. This stuff is basically the same thing, except with a dragon instead of a pig. But rather than discarding the blood, it's collected by a High Priestess into a ceremonial basin on the third night of a waxing moon and I'm totally fuckin' with you." He laughed brightly and gave Ciel a playful punch on his arm. "I made all that up. You should see your face- you thought I was nuts! Dragon's Blood is a tree resin, but it's red and smoky smelling. Hence the title."

Ciel nodded and forced a smile. "Ah, I see. What's it used for?"

"A lot of things," answered Tristan. "It's very powerful, so it can be used to amplify pretty much any spell. It's especially effective for protection and courage."

"And what about this?" Ciel's eye caught sight of a spherical jar full of pretty pink rosebuds.

"Those have multiple uses as well, but I like to use them for prophetic dreaming."

"Does it work?"

"Of course."

"Where do you learn about all this?"

Tristan shrugged and said easily, "Here and there. But I'm self taught, mostly."

Ciel's growling stomach forced him to move on to another topic. "So, what does 'good New Orleans' food consist of?"

"I was gonna make some rice and red beans, which is a staple down here, some collard greens, also very big, and Cajun style chicken."

"Is that spicy?" Ciel asked.

"Normally yes," Tristan said over his shoulder as he began to bustle about the kitchen, "but I can go easy on you."

"I would prefer that if you wouldn't mind," Ciel said.

"Not at all. Have a seat!" Tristan waved at the dining table at which Ciel then awkwardly sat. From a rack beside the stove, Tristan pulled out a bottle of wine for his guest's approval. "May I tempt you with an adult beverage?" he crooned.

Though he normally did not drink alcohol before eating, Ciel accepted in an attempt to appear as social as possible. The red liquor was poured into two glasses, one for each, and Tristan held his high in salute.

"What should we toast to?" he asked Ciel.

Ciel thought and decided on, "Peace for the Royale."

Tristan sighed deeply. "Peace for the Royale." The glasses clinked together and a hearty sip was taken by both. It was quiet for a period as Tristan drained the soaked beans and added them to a large heated pot. They hissed a bit as they hit the hot oil and exuded a pleasant nutty fragrance.

"If you don't mind my asking," Ciel said to continue the conversation, "why so friendly all of a sudden? You didn't seem too keen about my being here last night."

Tristan added a generous pinch of an aromatic spice to the pot and said, "Well, when you're working in a house of horror and no one is taking you seriously you tend to get a bit cagey."

"That I understand, but what specifically made you change your mind?"

"..." Waiting for the aroma to permeate the room before adding the rice and water, Tristan said, "Catarina told me you saw her."

"Saw who?"

"The Mistress. She told me you saw her walking up to the third floor. That's why that staircase is closed off, you know." He turned to Ciel. "Out of respect for her memory. Anyone who has ever seen her saw her in that same spot." He smiled intently. "It's just so wonderful. There are people who've worked at the club for years, even before it was the Royale, who have never seen her. But you, who not only are new to the club but new to the country, saw her the first night you were inside that place. It's a sign that she trusts you! It has to be!"

"And how do you know that?"

Tristan spoke softly. "There must be something special about you otherwise she wouldn't have shown herself at all." Suddenly, Tristan shook his head and turned back to the stove. "I'm sorry. I must be frightening you with all this ghost talk."

"No, I'm not afraid," Ciel said. "Only skeptical."

"Why? Are you a non-believer?" Tristan asked with a side glance.

"I believe in what I can see."

"But you saw her."

Ciel sighed and drank his wine. It was watery and acidic. It hadn't been aged very long. There was more silence as the self-appointed chef prepared the foul.

"And if you don't mind _my_ asking," Tristan said, "what's the deal with you anyway? Private eyes normally don't have homework or an early bedtime."

"I'm picking up where my predece- where my _father_ left off."

"You're a little young to inherit such a dangerous job, aren't you?"

"I didn't have a choice. He's dead. Both my parents are."

Tristan turned back around and the embarrassment flushed his face. "Oh, God. I'm so sorry. I wasn't thinking."

"Don't be sorry." Ciel shook his head. "It is what it is."

Another failed conversation starter, another span of silence.

"Jacob said last night," Tristan powered on, "that the Queen _herself_ has you solve crimes for her?"

"Basically."

"Have you worked with Scotland Yard?"

"I wouldn't say 'worked with,' but I have finished what they couldn't."

Tristan laughed and said under his breath, "That sounds like something Holmes would say."

Ciel had been gazing out the window but his full attention snapped to Tristan then. "What was that?"

"I'm sorry," he said, uncharacteristically shy, "I'm being a bookworm. Have you read Sherlock Holmes?"

Ciel kept calm as his inner child clapped his hands. "Yes, I have. I've actually met the author."

Tristan's eyes grew wide and his voice was almost silent when he spoke. "Stop it right now."

Bingo. Conversation piece!

"It's true," Ciel continued. "I invited him to a dinner party I hosted a little while back."

"Get the fuck outta here!" Tristan shouted. "He was in your house!?"

"Yes." Ciel momentarily thought of mentioning that he was also handcuffed to and shared a bed with the famed Wordsmith, but that would mean explaining the bloody series of events that lead up to that point and Ciel had sworn to never speak of that night again.

Tristan finished with the chicken's spice rub, plopped it on a tray and threw it in the oven. He sat roughly down in the chair opposite of Ciel's and said, "What's he like? Is he kind? Is he smart? He must be. I read he's an oculist. Did you guys talk about that? Is he writing more Holmes stories?"

The conversation continued in that vein for an hour or so while their dinner cooked, Doyle and Holmes and all things related. Even after dinner was served and more wine was poured they bantered on about mystery solving, even swapping scenarios that they had concocted for their own entertainment*****. At the close of the meal, Tristan cleared the plates and rummaged through the cupboards.

"Something sweet to round out your palate?" He asked as he presented a tin of assorted Italian biscuits.

"Always," Ciel smiled.

"Yay! Come on then." He took the tin, his glass and the half empty wine bottle to the under-stuffed couch. "Let's get cozy." Emboldened by a good meal and two glasses of wine, Ciel moved to sit next to the dancer on the sunken sofa.

An opened tin of biscuits and topped off glasses and the conversation took off again.

"Alright then," Ciel started that time, "I told you a bit about myself. What's your story?"

"You don't want to hear about me," Tristan said with genuine modesty.

"Don't I? Because I do believe I asked to hear about just that."

"My story is boring and stupid."

"Tristan. You costume yourself as a woman, dance burlesque half-naked for a room full of strangers and then reveal to everyone that you are in fact a man. I doubt the history behind that is boring."

"Well, when you say it like _that_."

"How else can it be said?!"

Tristan laughed and choked on a few crumbs of biscuit.

"And anyway," Ciel went on, "if we all examined our lives honestly, I doubt there are many stories that are truly stupid."

Sigh. "Alright. Only because you're cute, I'll indulge you. But don't complain if halfway through you realise it's boring and you don't wanna listen anymore." Tristan took a sip of wine for a courage boost and started into his history.

"I was born in New York City to a Turkish steel mill worker and a Hungarian textile employee. I had three sisters who worked with my mother and four brothers who were in the steel mill with my father. All of us had to work, y'know, so we could afford the rent and food and shit. I worked in the steel mill for a little while as well, but I was too small and skinny to really be of use to anyone. So instead I went to work as a newsie. That's actually how I learned to read. The other boys taught me what they knew and then I would take a leftover paper home to practise. The more you know about a story the better you can sell it right?" Another sip of wine. "Anyway. I became pretty buddy-buddy with the boys, so they would take me with them to their different hangouts. Docks, usually, but one night they were bold enough to sneak me into what they called a 'girl bar.' Now at the time, I had no idea what the hell that was, but I figured it out pretty quick." A laugh pushed out of him like bubbles through champagne, but then he became pensive. "But while the other men were hooting and hollering at the ankles and knees and tits, I was enjoying it in a different way. They all just looked so... powerful. And free. Everything around me was so desperate and dirty, I didn't think living a life like theirs was even possible. I remember there was this one man," he smiled at the memory, "who touched one of the girls' legs. She turned around and kicked his drink into his face, glass and all, so that he had a bloodied cut on his nose. He whined that the alcohol stung. Now I had seen women stand up to men like that before and it never ended well for them, but the audience went wild for this girl! They even threw their trash at the moron who harassed her. Naturally before I left, I had to tell her how amazing I thought she was. We got to talking, became friendly and she made me promise to come back and see her."

"What was her name?" Ciel asked through a fuzzy haze of Cabernet and reminiscence.

"Veronica," Tristan answered, equally as dreamy. "She changed my life."

"She taught you to dance I assume."

Tristan nodded slowly. "That she did. Little by little I learned about life backstage and onstage and more and more I fell in love with the escapism of the whole thing. And I would like to say that the girls were the ones who convinced me to dress up or I had lost a bet or something, but that would be a lie. I was just greedy. I wanted the entire experience, to be as beautiful and transcendent as them. The first few shows I did were group numbers so I wouldn't stand out too much, but even so I made more money in tips in one night as a cabaret dancer than I did in a month as a newsie.

"My first, and last, solo show in New York was on New Year's. It was only around one in the morning so the club was still packed, wall to wall, floor to ceiling- literally because there were two balconies- and every level was at maximum capacity. Backstage, I was terrified and nauseous and more than a little drunk, but I was _alive_. That was the moment I realised there's a huge difference existing and living. And when I was given my cue, I fucking flew out there and just let the music guide me." His voice was far off in a place where Ciel was not, and Ciel wished he could join him. "I moved with more confidence than I ever had in my life. Like I was finally being who I should have been all along. And the audience, not to toot my own horn, loved every minute. They threw flowers, money, love notes, a few garter belts because why not. It was fantastic." At this moment he came back to the present and spoke very seriously. "But at the end of my dance, in the midst of all that hysteria, I looked down at a group of men sitting in the front row. And who was there but all of my brothers. And my father." He adjusted in his spot uncomfortably. "I was paralysed. Couldn't even breathe. And back then, because I didn't pull my wig off at the end, I might've gotten away with it if I had been able to run. But my father saw my face for just long enough that he knew it was me. The second I saw that dawning of a realisation in his eyes, I booked it to the dressing room.

"Not two minutes had I been backstage that he found me and fished me out. And then, hand on the Bible, swear on my life, he dragged me home by the hair- or wig, rather. An hour after midnight, on New Year's Day, all through Manhattan, all through Brooklyn, all the way to the Bronx where we lived. My make-up was running, my wig was coming off my head, my corset was slipping down, and so it was obvious that I was a boy in girl's clothing. And everyone, literally _everyone_ in the neighbourhood, bore witness. They shouted awful, disgusting things at me, spit at me, poured booze on me, groped me, threw garbage at me, and the whole time my father didn't say a word. Wouldn't even look my way. When we got home, he let me have it like fucking never before. My face was all kinds of messed for two weeks afterwards.

"After that day, it was never the same. My siblings thought I was crazy. My mother couldn't look at me without crying. My father never acknowledged me. The priest talked about joining the brotherhood, the family doctor talked about insane asylums. And outside my immediate circle wasn't any better, since the entire goddamn borough knew about me. I got death threats in the mail, bricks were thrown at my window, creepy old men followed me home. It didn't take me long to realise that I wasn't safe in New York anymore." Tristan heaved a huge sigh. "So. I collected a few belongings, pocketed my tip money, and asked the dancer girls if they knew of anywhere in the world that would accept a freak like me."

"Even after all that, you still wanted to dance?" asked a bewildered Earl.

Tristan considered for a short time and said, "Dancing is the only thing that's ever given me purpose. I couldn't imagine giving it up."

"So you were directed to the Royale?"

"Sort of," Tristan said. "The girls suggested I go to New Orleans. Once here, I heard that a new club was auditioning for dancers so I went out on a limb, praying that my shtick would get me a job, or at the very least not killed. I met Jacob, he loved my aesthetic and the rest is history, as they say."

"Does your family know you're alright?" Ciel asked.

"I wrote home telling them so about two years ago. I haven't heard back yet."

"... I'm sorry."

Tristan smiled sadly. "It is what it is."

A group of miscreants passed under the window outside, shouting and carrying on as the party of two shared silence.

"If it's any solace," Ciel's wine-loosened tongue said without his brain's permission, "I know what it's like to be abused and alone."

Tristan looked over at Ciel who did not look back at him. "Do you want to talk about it?" Ciel kept his silence and swirled the wine around its glass idly. Tristan placed his glass on the low table in front of him. "I have an idea," he said. He stood from the sofa and fetched a small golden box. He sat on the floor, which Ciel knew would happen eventually, and asked, "If you're not comfortable talking about your past, would you allow me to read your Tarot?"

Though normally not one for mysticism, it seemed a subject impossible to avoid in that city. "Alright," Ciel agreed and seated himself on the opposite side of the table where Tristan sat.

Tristan lit a blue candle and removed from the box a deck of cards wrapped in a silver shawl. He spread the shawl out on the table, displaying a pattern of moon phases, and placed the cards atop of it. Out from the box he took what looked like a stick of gypsum and a vial of oil. Holding the white mineral, he held out a hand to Ciel. "Here. Give me your hands."

Hesitantly, Ciel did as he was asked and Tristan ran the stick down from the crook of his elbow to the pads of his fingers, very gently and slow.

"What is this?" Ciel asked in an ambiance-appropriate whisper.

"This is a selenite wand," Tristan whispered back. "It's a mineral cleansed by the light of a full moon and is used to draw out all the impurities from your hands before touching the cards. I didn't make that up, by the way," he added with a little grin. He traded the wand for the vial and put a dab of oil on his palm before massaging Ciel's hands with the same deliberateness. "And this is lemon oil," he explained before being asked, "for extra purifying effects." After he finished, Ciel cupped his hands over his nose and breathed in, inhaling what smelled like a basket of the fresh cut fruit.

"So," Tristan began, taking up his cards. "I'm going to do a simple three card reading for you, okay? You're going to shuffle them until it feels right to stop," he handed the deck to Ciel, "and what I need you to do is think about your past and present. The third card will be the future, which indicates what will happen if you stay on your current path. Got it?"

"Got it." Ciel moved his hands gingerly, taking care not to bend the cards, and shuffled until he simply grew bored.

Tristan smiled as Ciel handed back the deck. "Ready? This describes the events of your past." He turned the first card over. On it was a tall, stone fortress being struck by a bolt of lightning, causing it to burn and crumble to the ground. The text beneath it said **XVI** **The Tower**. "Ah..." Tristan began. "First of all, this is a Major Arcana card, which means it was a huge, life changing event. Specifically, this means tragedy. It means sneak attack. Whatever it was that you thought was impenetrable and guarded was struck down in the most painful way possible. 'Rude awakening' doesn't even begin to cover it." He waited to hear if Ciel had anything to say, but after it became obvious he still didn't want to talk, Tristan moved on. "This next one is your present situation." He flipped the card.

"The Devil?" Ciel read.

"People always get scared when I pull this," Tristan assured, "but it isn't literal- or at least I hope it isn't!" He laughed but Ciel didn't. "Anyway." Tristan cleared his throat and continued. "What this card really means is emotional or spiritual bondage. It's being caught in a vicious cycle that is normally self-induced. You see how the Devil is offering to pull His victim up from the floor? He's not doing it out of kindness. It's only to manipulate the weak for His personal gain. And the worst part is that the victim is trusting Him rather than breaking free."

"And my future?" Ciel said.

Tristan obliged and turned the card over. **XIII Death**, said the Tarot. Death, a flag-bearing skeleton in armour, riding his pale horse****** through a bloody battlefield.

"Again, not literal," Tristan said. "Death is in everyone's future, that's not much of a prediction. What this means is an absolute end to something in favour for something new, or inevitable change. The white rose on the rider's black flag symbolises Rebirth. And yes, you may move forward forever altered, and yes, the battleground is covered in corpses and there are things that we can never bring back, but it is possible to leave all that shit behind and to be reborn from the ashes."

"Like a phoenix," Ciel said, recalling another event that he'd rather not discuss.

"Exactly like a phoenix." Tristan nodded his head. Silence. "Does any of this ring true?" he asked.

"More than you know," Ciel answered quietly. He picked up the Death card to study it closer, its visceral imagery beautiful and foreboding.

"I feel like I should apologise again," Tristan said, breaking Ciel's trance. "Like I've just brought the tone down."

"You didn't bring the tone down. We were already on the subject of tragic backstories. Besides, it was interesting."

"Have I made a believer out of you?"

"Hm-hmm." Ciel's laugh hummed in his throat. "I don't know if I would say _that_." He stood from his spot but felt as though he had left his head below him. He teetered in place as the room became a cyclonic pull of earth tones and strange symbols. Ciel began to fall backwards but was caught by a pair of sinewy arms.

"Whoa!" Tristan laughed as he pulled Ciel back to the couch. "Hang on there, sweet pea. You alright?"

Ciel put a hand to his head. "Yes. I just stood up a bit too fast, that's all."

"Yeah, well, four glasses of wine'll do that to you."

"I am not drunk!" Ciel said, suddenly indignant.

Tristan put up his hands, his palms facing Ciel. "If you say so. But how about we get rid of these," he took up the wine glasses and nearly empty bottle, "and I make you some ginger-peppermint tea. Really good for when you drink too mu- I mean, for when you're totally sober."

Tristan squeezed Ciel's knee before running to the kitchen again. As the clanking and swashing sounds of tea making began, Ciel took the moment to feel annoyed with himself.

_'It's been nearly four hours,'_ he thought after looking at a small clock on a jar-lined shelf, _'and I haven't learned anything about the victims of the Royale. Not even why they suspect a bloody spirit in the first place! As soon as he comes back,'_ Ciel ordered himself, _'I will get down to the bottom of this. Let me just close my eyes for a moment to collect my thoughts...' _

Tristan scurried back to the couch holding two cups and a clay tea pot only to find his guest snuggled up into a loose fetal position. He laughed as he set the tea things on the table and leaned over Ciel.

"Are you sleeping?" he quietly asked. No answer. Only soft breathing and partially opened lips. Tristan thought of waking him when the clock struck midnight. He put out the candles and draped a blanket over the slumbering private eye. "Good night, Ciel," he whispered.

-}%{-

The flat was silent and still as the summer's night when it was visited by a third. A tall, pitch black figure stepped lightly, expertly soundless in its traveling. A pair of burning eyes fixated on the small boy sleeping on a ratty old sofa. With the same stealthy gait he approached the child and reached a long hand down to push the tendrils of sleep-mussed hair away from the boy's face. Gloved fingertips rested lightly on his tender temple.

_Come to me at noon. I have much to tell you._

Ciel moaned in his sleep and his eyes sprang open against the dark. By the light of the crescent moon, he could see an untouched tea set on the table, as well as his Tarot spread. Tristan lay on the floor in a nest of blankets and pillows, his breathing steady and deep. Ciel looked about the flat with sobered eyes and saw nothing out of place. Hmm. He could have sworn someone else was here... Succumbing once again to the late hour, Ciel cuddled down into the cushions and instantly fell back to sleep.

* * *

***New headcanon (or probably an old one and I just never knew about it): Ciel dabbles in Holmes fanfiction.**

****This is, of course, an allusion to the Apocalyptic horseman.**


End file.
